


I Don't Like Guns

by ruric



Category: Leverage, The X-Files
Genre: Community: comment_fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-09
Updated: 2009-02-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:43:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot & Alex sometimes meet up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Like Guns

Down on his knees in a pitch black hallway, teeth worrying at his lip in concentration, and Eliot’s silently working through a litany of curses.

He’s not totally sure but the last one that bounced off the inside of his skull – full of harsh gutturals if he’d been able to say it out loud – might’ve been Albanian. They all blur together after a while, but as far as he’s concerned the mark of a well traveled man is the ability to curse fluently in pretty much any language he’s ever heard.

Just because his preferred method of gaining entry to a room is kicking down a door doesn’t mean he can’t turn his hand to picking a lock when he has to. Though the length of time it’s taking him to get this son of a bitch open means he’s gonna see if Parker might give him a little bit of a refresher course when he gets back to the office.

He doesn’t like this – given a time and place to meet by text to his cell – with no chance to do any prelim recon cause only a fool goes in blind.

And Eliot’s never been big on thinking himself a fool. 

Until now.

But there’s no denying it’s him out here, knees of his jeans scuffing the bare floorboards, working the pick into the door. Counting heartbeats – in between the silent cursing – sweat trickling from his neck down between his shoulder blades and all he wants to do is scream and kick the fucking thing down.

The lock turns with a final soft click and he wraps the picks in the roll, tucks it safely into his pocket before getting quietly to his feet.

The handle’s smooth, cold against his palm and he holds his breath as he turns it and the door swings inward, no metal on metal grate of hinges to give his presence away.

Cat-soft he edges carefully into the room, eyes taking in the window in the opposite wall. The shaft of moonlight illuminates too little – more bare floorboards, no furniture, no cover – and it leaves him too aware of the large expanses of deep shadow.

The shiver of warning that runs down his spine comes too late, the cold barrel of the gun sliding through his hair to caress the back of his neck.

“I don’t like guns.” 

His voice is low and easy, patient even.

“So you keep saying.” 

There’s a whisper of air behind him, a breath barely stirring his hair and the guy is good. Eliot can feel the heat of the body behind him, close enough to register on what Hardison calls his spider sense, but not touching him.

“And yet you still keep pointin’ one at me every time we meet.”

“Maybe I just want to see if you’ve come up with any new ways to take it away from me?”

And when it comes down to it there’s only so many ways you can disarm a man standing behind you. Eliot grins, head falling forward until he can feel the threat of the gun but not the actual pressure of the barrel.

“Yeah but you forget, you got a gun and your only good hand is occupied.”

Eliot jabs, elbow to the solar plexus, hard enough to bruise and wind but not to do any permanent damage. Spins even as he hears the huff of breath, fingers closing around the wrist holding the gun, pressing just right there until there’s a grating of bones and the gun clatters noisily to the floor.

He uses the momentum to drive them back, shoulders of the other guy bouncing off the wall, Eliot’s free arm coming up to press across an exposed throat, body following hard and fast to get all close and personal.

“What’s the matter Alex? Did he fuck you up so bad that you can’t get it up without this first?"

But Alex just smiles, moonlight flashing off his teeth, smile going predator-wide as his hips roll forwards and press into Eliot.

No malice in that smile, just humor and recognition, and one eyebrow lifted in a silent query.

No denying what Alex can feel. Eliot wants this just as much, mouth gone dry, stomach plummeting with the crazed adrenalin rush he always gets whenever they hook up.

A flood of heat stains his cheeks as he leans in, biting his way into Alex’s mouth and it’s just want, just hunger and need - that's all.

If he keeps telling himself that he thinks he might just be able to live with it.


End file.
